Illustration by Jaimie Shelton
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Ask anyone what the best rappie pie is, and they’ll probably say: Mom’s rappie pie. The one you ate growing up at every major celebration. With family, friends, at restaurants and community events.
But it’s not that simple. For me, it’s not just rappie pie – it’s good rappie pie. D’la bonne rapure, as we say in French Acadian.
So, what makes the difference between rappie pie and good rappie pie? Since the ingredients – potatoes, meat, broth, onions, salt and pepper – don’t change, it has to come down to the proportions, preparation, quality and the cooking process. You can end up with something bland, or with a rappie pie so flavourful it’s a spiritual experience. It’s all about texture, taste and that crust. Everyone wants a corner piece, where there’s more crust.
In the 1960s, making rapure was an all-day family affair. The chicken had to be cooked the night before, usually a stewing hen – that is, a hen that had stopped laying and was tough as leather. It had to simmer all day on the wood stove until tender. In the morning, we’d cook and grate the potatoes. Then the grated potatoes were put in a cloth bag, and the liquid squeezed out and replaced with the hot chicken broth. It would be stirred and cooked in a big pot on the stove, then poured into a large, greased rectangular basin. Half the meat mixture went in the middle, and the rest of the potato mixture covered the top. It had to be oven-ready by early afternoon, since it cooked for hours in the wood stove. Even after coming out of the oven, it wasn’t ready – you had to let it sit on the counter for at least half an hour.
Love and so many memories grow in my garden
When I was growing up, most restaurants made good rappie pie too. People would pick one up on their way home from church. It couldn’t be prepared too far in advance. Leftover or reheated pie was often sold for less the next day. There was even a joint in Meteghan, N.S., called Benny’s, where they’d deep fry it. It had a crispy crust but was soaked in grease – not the healthiest choice, but unforgettable.
The fast-food version of rappie pie – single servings sold in small aluminum pans – is still sold at the shop La Rapure Acadienne in Church Point. It’s perfectly fine, and everyone eats it from time to time, but it’s not where I’d take someone I wanted to impress.
The pie container matters – a lot. Many families have a rappie pie pan passed down through generations, stained from hundreds of pies.
Some people add butter or molasses when eating it. Personally, I never add anything. Adding molasses usually means you’re trying to salvage a bad pie. Today, you can buy frozen rapure at most grocery stores. Or buy the potatoes already grated to make at home. But the only way to guarantee a good rapure is to make it yourself from scratch.
I’m no historian, so I can’t tell you the exact origin of rapure, but stories have floated around our village. Some say it’s adapted from a German dish. What I do know is that, for us, it was the dish you could prepare to feed a large family cheaply. And with care and love, it could be incredibly delicious. Rappie pie is a treat for the belly, but to the uninitiated, it’s rarely a treat for the eyes.
And yes, rappie pie has suffered at the hands of those who try to make it healthy. Any attempt to reduce fat or salt turns it into something like wallpaper glue. You can’t mess with perfection.
Here in La Baie Sainte-Marie, we have some of the best seafood in the world – lobster, scallops – but they’re enjoyed everywhere. Rapure, on the other hand, is ours. It’s served in many Acadian regions, which is fantastic, but we always make the best. For us, rappie pie isn’t just food for the stomach – it’s food for the soul.
Growing up, I never realized that our food obsession was really about food insecurity
Years ago, my wife and I went to a funeral. As is custom, friends and neighbours gathered at the house of the deceased, bringing food. People came up to us with plates, saying, “You have to try this.” It was a rappie pie made by a friend’s mother. They handed out forkfuls like Holy Communion. Even the experts were speechless: A humble peasant dish elevated to Michelin star status.
For people my age, the smell of rappie pie in the oven is like Proust’s madeleines – it transports us. It opens a door to childhood, to holidays, to memories.
So if you get the chance, try our national Acadian dish. I just hope you’re lucky enough to get some good rappie pie.
François Thibault lives in Little Brook, N.S.
